Chapter 1 The Art of Pretending

Kaelia

The afternoon light caught the storefront glass along Via Montenapoleone, reflecting a world that looked entirely harmless on the surface. Growing up in this city had trained me early on in the art of the facade—how to wear an easy smile, throw money around, and act completely blind to the brutal realities rotting beneath all the high-end polish.

I had perfected the act.

What I didn't realize that afternoon was that my luck was about to run out for good.

Three paces ahead of me, Ginevra Di Falco strode with effortless confidence. Her heels struck the marble floor in a sharp, steady rhythm like drumsticks, her reflection multiplying endlessly across the boutique windows. She never once glanced back to make sure I was keeping up. She had no reason to; the world parted for Ginevra on instinct.

“Tell me this isn’t an actual felony,” she remarked, pulling a cream-colored dress from the display rack. The material was so fluid it spilled over her palm like running water. “Making something this flawless ought to be against the law.”

I reached out and brushed my fingertips along the sleeve. The fabric felt cool, skimming over my skin without any real weight at all.

Airy, delicate, and carrying a price tag that didn't bear thinking about.

“It’s gorgeous,” I offered.

Ginevra cast a quick look over her shoulder. “You never say anything else.”

Mostly because the standard compliment required way less effort than telling the truth. I wasn't going to admit that a piece like that would look wrong on me—just like everything else in here did. In our world, true beauty was a lot like influence: it belonged by birthright to girls like her.

A few feet away, the sales associate hovered with a wide, practiced smile pinned to her face. Her gaze darted back and forth between the two of us, weighing the unspoken authority of the Di Falco name woven into every inch of Ginevra’s posture against the quieter Vieri legacy I carried. People in this city gave me respect, certainly. It just wasn't the same brand of deference they handed her.

While Ginevra slipped into the fitting room, I lingered by the racks, running my fingers over cashmere and silk, letting the hushed, expensive calm of the boutique settle around me. Outside the glass, traffic hummed down the avenue, punctuated by a sudden burst of loud laughter from somewhere down the block.

That was the rhythm my days had fallen into ever since college ended.

Weightless. Completely unmoored from anything that resembled real life.

Inside my purse, my phone gave a brief buzz. I left it alone.

I caught sight of myself in a nearby mirror—dark hair gathered into a low knot at my nape, a soft dress fitted neatly around my waist. Yet my eyes looked far too watchful for a girl who was supposed to have no cares in the world. My mother had warned me more than once that I paid too much attention to things, and that seeing too clearly would only make my life more difficult.

The fitting room door swung open and Ginevra stepped out. “Alright, imagine this with stilettos. Or maybe boots. Or barefoot, honestly.”

A genuine laugh escaped me. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m a force of nature,” she countered, striking an exaggerated pose before pausing. “Whereas you—”

She tilted her head slowly, her eyes narrowing just a fraction as she studied me.

“What is it?” I asked.

“You’re doing it again,” she pointed out.

I kept my smile firmly in place. “Doing what?”

“Going quiet like that.” Closing the distance between us, she dropped her voice an octave. “Where you just retreat inside your own head.”

I gave a casual shrug. “Just a little worn out, that’s all.”

She let out a skeptical hum. “We just graduated. Our families are loaded, and it’s springtime. Tired isn't the word—you’re miles away.”

Reaching over, I picked up a shopping bag resting on the counter. “Could we maybe skip the therapy session for today?”

“Bit late for that,” she replied brightly. “I’ve been diagnosing you for years.”

She settled the bill without bothering to check the final number, earning something close to a bow from the clerk. A moment later, we walked back out into the afternoon sunshine. Heat washed over my bare skin as the noise of the avenue rushed in to meet us.

Ginevra slipped her arm through mine as we started down the pavement.

“By the way,” she began in a breezy tone. “Run into my brother lately?”

The pavement seemed to shift beneath my feet, just enough to knock me off center.

“No,” I answered. “What reason would I have to see him?”

She kept her eyes trained ahead, though the curve of her mouth turned razor-sharp. “Easy. You practically jump every single time his name comes up.”

I hadn’t jumped.

Every muscle in my body had simply locked up.

“Valen hardly shows his face these days anyway,” I replied, aiming for an airy indifference. “Always tied up with... whatever he does.”

A quiet laugh slipped from her lips. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”

Unbidden, the memories pushed their way to the front of my mind. Wide shoulders tailored in a dark suit. That deep, even voice that could command an entire room without ever rising in volume. Hands that moved with absolute certainty, never once second-guessing.

Years ago, I had taught myself never to stare whenever Valen Di Falco was in the vicinity. It wasn't out of fear that he was monstrous or sadistic, but simply because nothing ever escaped his attention. And the second his eyes locked onto you, looking away became impossible.

“He terrifies you,” Ginevra remarked out of nowhere.

My brows pulled together. “No, he doesn't.”

She nudged my shoulder with hers. “Please. He terrifies literally everyone.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Abruptly, she halted right in the middle of the sidewalk.

It took me two more strides to realize she was no longer walking beside me. Pivoting back, I caught her fixing me with that piercing, all-too-familiar stare—the exact look she used to wear over college exams, or in the middle of an argument when she already had the winning hand figured out.

“You’ve been head over heels for him for as long as I can remember,” she stated flatly.

The accusation hit its mark with brutal accuracy.

I forced out a laugh that came way too quickly and rang far too loud. “You’re out of your mind.”

Sure, maybe I harbored a harmless little infatuation, but I didn't even actually like the man.

Ginevra folded her arms across her chest. “The very first time you asked me where he’d gone, you were nine years old.”

“Kids ask questions.”

“By twelve, you went dead silent the second he walked through a doorway.”

“I was just an awkward kid.”

“And at my eighteenth birthday dinner, you showed up in that white dress and spent the whole night staring at the floorboards.”

My throat closed up. “Ginevra.”

Her expression gentled, if only by a degree. “Having feelings isn’t a felony, Kaelia.”

“It will be if he ever catches on,” I murmured.

She watched me for a beat before letting out a slow breath. “You hand him way too much control over you.”

Perhaps she had a point. Or perhaps I had just witnessed enough over the years to know precisely what her brother could do.

We resumed our walk down the street. The subject was dropped, though the weight of it lingered in the air between us, thick and unacknowledged.

Beside us, a dark sedan crept along the edge of the pavement. Its pace was far too deliberate, far too measured. Behind the heavily tinted glass, the engine barely made a whisper.

Ginevra didn't spare it a glance.

My body, however, reacted on pure instinct.

My heart rate picked up, a sudden static prickling along my arms until the vehicle finally accelerated and merged back into the flow of traffic.

“Everything alright?” Ginevra asked.

“Fine,” I lied smoothly. “Thought I recognized someone for a second.”

A teasing smirk tugged at her lips. “Had that been Valen, you’d be passed out on the pavement right now.”

I rolled my eyes at her. “You have a mean streak.”

“I just tell it like it is.”

A block later, we claimed an outdoor table at a café draped in crisp linen, where a bottle of champagne was already waiting on ice. Ginevra lifted her flute into the air.

“Here’s to being free,” she declared. “And to dropping the act for good.”

Raising my own glass, I watched the tiny bubbles catch the afternoon sun. “To whatever comes next.”

Crystal rang softly against crystal.

For one fleeting heartbeat, the afternoon felt entirely grounded. Untouchable. Secure.

Then my purse vibrated again.

This time, I pulled the phone out.

No caller ID.

Frowning, I let my thumb hover over the screen for a fraction of a second before tapping the notification open.

The text was brief, stripped of any pleasantries or context.

*You need to come home.*

Before I could even process the words, the phone buzzed a second time in my palm.

*Now.*

A band of tension pulled tight across my ribs.

Across the table, Ginevra caught the shift in my face. “What’s wrong?”

Clicking the screen dark, I pasted on a practiced smile that fell short of my eyes. “It’s nothing. Just my father, most likely.”

She settled back against her seat. “Right. The cryptic family call. Want some company?”

I gave a quick shake of my head. “No, really. I’ve got it.”

Yet my grip on the champagne stem tightened until the skin over my knuckles turned stark white.

Because somewhere beneath the surface of the warm sun, the expensive silk, and the chilled wine, the ground had just given way.

For the first time all afternoon, the city didn't feel bright anymore.

It felt like a pair of eyes trained directly on my back.

Right as I pushed my chair back to get up, one final vibration hummed against my palm.

*Don’t be late,* the screen warned.

*He’s already here.*

And nobody needed to spell out the name for me to know who was waiting.